


Love Like Wine

by RedSkyNight



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Porn, Drunk Sex, Drunken Confessions, Fluffy Ending, Implied Enthusiastic Consent, M/M, Other, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, but they're getting better!, not really drunk just tipsy, set in an au that doesn't exist where decepticons and autobots stop fighting to deal with MECH
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:08:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26228446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedSkyNight/pseuds/RedSkyNight
Summary: Optimus and Megatron aren't capable of talking out their feelings sober. Luckily for them, a healthy dose of liquid courage.... makes them get completely sidetracked and hung up on their million-year-old relationship drama.
Relationships: Megatron/Optimus Prime, Megatron/Orion Pax
Comments: 36
Kudos: 165





	Love Like Wine

Megatron’s servos, clawed and dangerous, curled loosely around Optimus’s straining thighs, stroked up and down the plating, slipping into seams to pluck at delicate wires with the tips of his thin, razor-sharp digits. Even with the haze of intoxication, he was careful, always applying the blunt edges, and Optimus quaked at the sensation, the _intimacy_ of it. His blunt, rounded digits covered Megatron’s own, drawing his once-friend, his _lover’s_ attention away from the place where they were connected. Optimus rolled his hips down, slow, savoring—the feeling, the position—so achingly _familiar,_ even if not to this frame. Megatron was watching him, not his array, where they slid together like they had been forged to fit each other— _like Optimus had been remade for him, and him alone,_ some ancient, sentimental part of the Prime’s processor whispered, but looking into his optics, red and bright and overcharged, looking awestruck and magnificent and _aged_ and _still_ everything Orion— _Optimus_ —had ever wanted. 

One of Megatron’s massive servos lifted to brush over the smooth, soft-edged armor of Optimus’s chest, tracing a path to the Prime’s faceplate, curling those long digits around the side of his helm to stroke a finial, optics searching his own for something Optimus didn’t dare recognize. There was a sad sort of smile tilted on Megatron’s faceplate, exposing sharp, pointed dentae. He looked clumsy, younger, a little softer for it, and Optimus smiled back, a tentative thing, emotional subsystems lagging from the high grade and thousands of years of repression. Megatron’s mouth opened, a low, exhaling moan rumbling out in time with the sway and grind of Optimus’s hips, but his jaw worked for a moment, his optics roaming the Prime’s frame like he would never get to see him again, “Optimus…” he started, his voice trailing off like he couldn’t really decide if he wanted to speak or not. “Do you remember us? What we were before?” his servo traveled from Optimus’s thigh to the juncture of his hip struts, digit ghosting over the biolights that glittered along the edge of the Prime’s full, stretched valve, “When you were _mine_? My little archivist. My-!” he cut himself off, hips stuttering upwards, a choked hum freeing itself from his vocalizer. 

_His little archivist._

An old pain washed over Optimus, brimming with an agony that had never fully healed, bright, hot sorrow coursing through his emotional subsystems and nearly shorting out his processor. _Of course,_ he remembered them. What they had been. What they had lost. 

What his processor showed him every time he allowed himself to recharge. 

Staticky bursts of binary chirps and clicks flew from his vocalizer, he was muted and slow with overcharge, too far gone to care that this was the first time he’d cried in over a millennium. “Remember?!” he asked, the word broken by snaps of static from his grieving processor, “Of course I _remember_ , Megatronus - Mega _tron_. You were everything. All I thought of—day and night—all I think of now.” He curled over the warlord, his outline fuzzy enough in Optimus’s vision that he could imagine purple plating was red—that the faded, ancient scars were fresh, that Megatron was still the bright-opticked revolutionary Orion Pax had given his spark to.

He _could’ve_ imagined that, but he _didn’t_. It would be unfair to both of them—to live in the past. Those days were gone, those bots were dead. He grounded himself on Megatron’s spike, still so deep inside him he felt nearly full to bursting. His staticky sobs hadn’t ceased, and he rocked himself back onto his gladiator’s spike, needy and lost—mourning for a time that had been laid to rest eons ago. He felt uncoordinated, his servos curling into Megatron’s ventral armor, drunk and tired and _stupid_ as he’d always been when the warlord was involved. 

Megatron—for all he had tried to provoke an emotional rise from the Prime—didn’t seem to know what to do now that he’d worked the smaller mech to tears. Optimus was clutching at him, the sharp armor of his knees digging into his hips, blunt, black digits clinging to him desperately. He had wanted a fight—for Optimus to look at him, cool fire in his optics—for him to dash Megatron’s dreams of there still being _something_ there, because that was easier than admitting that he still woke from recharge with the name of a dead mech on his glossa. But Optimus, apparently self-martyring even when overcharged, had gone and emotionally skewered himself—and wasn’t that just like him, not letting Megatron have the upper-servo, even in sadness. 

“You _left_ me, Optimus. You got what you wanted from the Council and you left me behind,” Megatron accused, servos squeezing around the slighter bot’s waist. “You wrapped us all around your little digits and stole the Primacy for yourself!” Optimus shook at the accusation, somber face thrown into sharp, sad relief by the light of the moon above them. 

“I didn’t _want_ the Primacy, Megatron! I wanted _you_ ! How can you still be so _ignorant_?” Optimus cried, optics sparking. “I gave up _everything_ for you—can’t you see that?! My spark, my frame, my _mind_ —all of it, just to see _you_ succeed.” His digits fled the warlord’s armor as if he’d been burned by it, servos clutching at each other desperately and he looked millennia younger in the worst way, lost and scared, his hips still rocking, seeking friction even while he stuttered with sobs. “I did it all for you,” he whispered, “and you tried to kill me for it.”

Megatron tried to summon up his righteous anger, the fury that had guided him through vorns of war, but all his drunken, sentimental system could come up with was a sluggish and bitter sort of longing. “You had betrayed me,” he said softly, his servo coming up to stroke Optimus’s helm again, long, clawed digits petting and tweaking his sensitive finials. He wondered if it felt as good to Optimus as it had to Orion, with his little frame and big spark and-

“I saw you, preaching a message of peace and decrying my work, and thought the worst, as anyone would.” He sighed, his hips rolling lazily, spike caught in the tight, hot grip of the last of the Primes’ calipers. Some part of him rejoiced at defiling a holy mech so fully, but it was overshadowed by his deep well of grief, a hurt he could never brush away—the cause of it rocking glacially above him.

Optimus keened, driving down a little harder, even as his face twisted like he was in _pain_ , “You pointed your cannon at me, Megatron. I thought I was going to die,” he paused, vocalizer spitting out hissing pops as his emotional subsystems overclocked themselves one by one. “You were the only mech I trusted, the only one I thought would help me after the Council had forced me into the bowels of the planet and left me to offline.” The Prime’s servo came up to cover the one that cupped his hip, broad, flat digits warm against Megatron’s own, “I loved you so much,” his ventilations stuttered, “more than _anything_ , Megatron, and you told me that you were going to see me dead if it was the last thing you did.” 

Megatron’s spark ached, and he regretted not getting up and flying off as soon as Optimus had approached. The fragile peace between their faction had relied mostly on keeping the two leaders apart, but he just couldn’t turn around and leave as his former lover, _his almost-sparkmate,_ offered a very old cube of engex and asked to clear the air between them. He had meant to be rough, claiming, when Optimus had looked at him, optics fuzzy and overbright with charge, and asked to ‘face. He had wanted to pound every bit of his anger and frustration and horrible, searing love into the mech who’d done nothing but make him _weak_ over the millions of years that they’d been fighting, who made him angry even when they no longer fought with anything but words. He was a fool to think that he could keep his composure, with Optimus so open and impossibly trusting above him. Instead of hurting Optimus, he turned his servo, catching the Prime’s flat digits between his own and lacing them together. “There were so many mistakes made, so much hate,” he paused, shuddering as he bucked up, his other servo straying down to tease over Optimus’s bright, flickering node, digits running circles around the sensitive silicone. “Do you truly think we could undo that? Go back to being those star-crossed lovers that we used to be?” he asked, squeezing Optimus’s servo. 

The red and blue mech only let out a tone of sorrow, tearing at Megatron’s spark with its sad lilt. Optimus’s calipers squeezed along the spike buried inside him, pausing in his grinds, “I thought, at first, after the dust settled and MECH was gone, that you might want to meet with me, hear me out.” He clenched his dentae, biting his lip until energon dotted it. The usually deep, calm voice wavered when he spoke again, “But we couldn’t even _talk._ You wouldn’t look at me. And I gave up for a while.” Another roll of his hips, lighting up sensor clusters deep inside, ones that hadn’t ever been touched in his battle-forged frame, “But we’re talking about reviving Cybertron. We can’t keep avoiding optical contact when we’re on the bridge together.” 

Optimus caught Megatron’s other servo, pulling it away from his sensitive little node, lacing their digits together as Megatron had with its twin. “I knew you were hurting,” he hurried to turn his lover’s faceplate back towards him when the warlord jerked his helm away, fuzzy optics staring out over the desert terrain instead of meeting the Prime’s too-knowing gaze. “No, no, don’t hide from me. You don’t have to pretend to be impenetrable,” he brought their still-joined servos to his lips, kissing Megatron’s knuckles. “I knew, and I couldn’t watch it anymore. I wanted to give us some closure, by talking tonight. But _this_ — it wasn’t planned.” He paused, staring down at the large grey mech, “I suppose I’m just overcharged, overcharged, and just as in love with you as I was four million years ago. I—” 

Megatron silenced him with a kiss, yanking him down by the neck to join their mouths, slotting together like they were meant to be. He tongued the energon on Optimus’s split lip, grinning, razor-sharp into the kiss. “You’re so _stupid_ , for being one of the smartest bots I’ve ever met,” he growled. “All that wisdom in the little god-box in your chest, and you couldn’t see that I made good on my promise. That I followed you across the galaxy. That I never left you alone. Just like the vows we made.” He looked away, venting shakily, vulnerable in a way he wasn’t ever, even before the war. “I was so, so angry when you left. But I never stopped loving you, and I was angry about that too.” He thrust up, reveling in the shaky vent and quiet keen, “We couldn’t talk because I didn’t know what to say. You’re the only mech that can leave me speechless.” He rolled them, smirking as the air rushed out of Optimus’s vents in a huff of steam, “But we’re talking now.” The larger mech grabbed Optimus’s slim thighs, hiking them around his hips until he felt his lover lock his ankles, pulling Megatron closer. He looked down at Optimus, his tilted frown gone, replaced by a smile he hadn’t worn in a long time, and Optimus, he— 

Was smiling back, grinning really, looking ecstatic with ridiculous sparks coming from his optics from the sheer force of emotions stirred up in his processor. “You’re so glitched,” Megatron said, but he was grinning too, and leaned down to taste the happiness on Optimus’s lips, reeling from the bounce from one drunken emotional extreme to another. Megatron’s glossa slid against Optimus’s, tasting his lover’s mouth as he began to thrust in earnest, overcharged and shaking apart. Optimus moaned into the kiss, letting himself be loud and unchecked for this rare moment. His servos shot up, arms sliding around Megatron’s neck to claw at his backplates and pet at his helm.

Optimus pulled away, a sweet, shimmering heat radiating from his faceplates, “Do you think we could try? Can we try _ah_ -again?!” He arched his back, fans kicking up to their maximum as Megatron left their leisurely pace in the dust, straining towards a drunken, clumsy overload. 

“Mmmn,” Megatron buried his face in Optimus’s neck, kissing and nuzzling the cables there. “I think right now, we’re overcharged and desperate. I think I’m considering it, but that we’ll have to have a long, _long_ conversation tomorrow, when we’re sober.” He grunted as Optimus’s calves dug into his back, urging him to be faster, harder. 

“Not a no,” the Prime replied, valve spasming around Megatron’s spike, charge arching from his plating to ground itself in the silver mech. He curled around Megatron, smokestacks puffing out steam, clearly on the edge, wiggling desperately in the larger bot’s grip to grind his anterior node against the ridge on his spike housing. “You love me?” he asked, the end of the question nearly a whine. 

Megatron smiled, wrapping his arm around Optimus to tug him closer, looking straight into the blue bot’s optics. “Yes, I love you, you fool,” he sighed, kissing Optimus again with almost giddy happiness. 

That was all it took to send Optimus over the edge, the rough, bruising thrusts paired with the gentle press of their lips too much to bear. He writhed in Megatron’s grip, optics whiting out while he arched and whined. Charge skittered across his plating, sending staticky shocks over their joined frames, and Megatron could do nothing but follow him over, rolling his hips and grinding deep before he overloaded with a low groan, transfluid spilling into the tight, rippling grip of Optimus’s valve, joining the mess of lubricant that dripped onto the ground beneath them. 

Megatron held himself there, arm shaking as it supported his weight in his post-overload haze, his drunkenness finally getting the better of him as he collapsed, barely able to move to the side so he didn’t crush Optimus’s lighter frame. Their vents puffed steam over both of their frames, and Optimus lazily rolled onto his side, unknowingly showing off the sleek curve of his waist. He nuzzled up to Megatron, his optics unfocused and tired. “I love you, too,” he whispered, kissing the large expanse of silver chestplates, “idiot.” 

Megatron burst into laughter, laying out in the dirt in the middle of nowhere, ecstatic to have organic filth caught in his seams because Optimus was right there with him, for the first time in what felt like forever. 

* * *

Drink to me only with thine eyes,  
And I will pledge with mine;  
Or leave a kiss within the cup,  
And I'll not ask for wine.

-Ben Jonson

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I've written since May, and the first thing I've finished since November 2019. If it's OOC, take it up with my depression. 
> 
> Comment moderation turned on! If you want to put slurs in my inbox, I’ll put you straight in the Abuse Reports for Ao3 😊
> 
> Check me out on twitter [@Baneswood1](https://twitter.com/Baneswood1) or on tumblr [@Baneswood-Sins](https://baneswood-sins.tumblr.com)


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